


Creative Writing Class 2020

by NavigationByAtlas



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Horror, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, its not too graphic but be careful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 12:42:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NavigationByAtlas/pseuds/NavigationByAtlas
Summary: I've decided to post some of my creative writing works. Some might even be developed outside of the class. For now, this is a catchall.
Kudos: 1





	1. Darkness

I am dragged out of sleep by the sharp sound of an alarm. Blearily, I blink open my eyes and roll over, grabbing at my bedside table for my phone. 

_5:45 AM_

I groan, tapping the screen to dismiss the alarm and curling back into my sheets. For a few sweet minutes, I doze off in the blissful warmth. A shrill beeping hooks me by the ears and tugs me back out of rest. 

_6:15 AM_

I must’ve slept through my 6 o’clock alarm, but it doesn’t much matter. I sit up, rubbing my eyes and rolling my shoulders. Goosebumps litter my arms and I immediately regret leaving the sanctuary of my warm blankets to pull on clothes that are as cold the bedroom. Huffing a sigh, I force myself out of bed and pull on an outfit. Soft music continues to play from a small speaker by the bed. It’s quiet enough that I can still hear the rain tapping against the window. I’d better dress warm. 

I leave my bedroom by 6:30 and flick on the bathroom lights, groaning at their brightness. I squint at my toothbrush as I squeeze the paste onto it and glare at my reflection while I brush my teeth, cursing myself for being awake. With my other hand, I ruffle my hair and grunt when it’s tamed enough to pass as combed. 

Once my mouth is rinsed, I push my glasses onto my face and head into the kitchen. The sky is still dark and I stare at it while cardboard-flavored waffles heat up in the toaster. I used to love toaster waffles; I’d ask for a box every time I was at the grocery store and polish them off by the end of the week. Now, I have maybe two in a morning and often only finish one. They’re bland and dry unless I have time to scrape jam or cream cheese over the top, and my appetite is low. I force them down knowing I’ll be hungry later on.

By 7:00 I am in the car for a five-minute ride to school. I’m lucky to get a ride, and luckier still if it’s a quiet one. Today, my dad rambles about something he read online and I hum along, trying to listen through the haze of fatigue in my head. 

The cafeteria is an odd combination of loud and quiet. My head buzzes with the sound of voices that are muffled by the sound of rushing blood in my ears. I take a sip from my water bottle to quell the impending headache. I probably haven’t eaten enough. I don’t feel hungry. Alex greets me as I drop my backpack onto the floor and my rear into a seat at our usual table. I’m the second of our group to arrive and I chat idly with her for a minute or two. 

A flicker ripples through the lights before they black out entirely. The few students gathered in the room gasp and shout. Whispers fill the area and cell phone screens and flashlights flood small portions of the room with artificial light. It isn’t long before those die out, too. The sun isn’t even above the horizon. I take my friend by the hand and rush us to the nearest door but there isn’t a light to be seen inside the school or out. 

_What’s happening?_

A glance my friend tells me that she’s having the same thought. I motion to Alex to stay by the door and creep back to the table to retrieve our backpacks. As I’m rummaging through my bag, a scream erupts from the other side of the cafeteria and I snap my head up to no avail. It’s too dark. We need to get out. I sling my backpack onto my shoulders and try the door again. It doesn’t seem locked, I notice, but something is keeping it shut. The commotion is creeping across the room and I don’t want to stick around to find out what it is. 

I take Alex by the arm so I don’t lose track of her and move as quickly as I can toward the next closest door. This one is stuck, too, but we’re farther from whatever was scaring people, so I allow myself a moment to breathe. A loud crash fills the room and I shout my friend’s name in alarm. She yanks me to the door and tells me that we need to move, _fast._ She’d used a chair to break through the window. Using the same chair, we climb through the window. Glass catches on my shoulder and I shout in pain and surprise, earning a look from Alex. I shake my head and we run on.

The sky is getting darker. It could only be about 7:45 yet the sky is an inky black abyss. The moon is nowhere to be seen and stars seem to blink out one by one. That is the cruelest part, I think. Without even starlight as a guide, we may as well be blind. We have to stay together. I’m more anxious with every step, unsure of my footing. One hand is out in front of me while the other holds tightly to Alex. Something brushes my shoulder and I hiss at the aching fire it sends to my fingertips. Something else is here, something I doubt I would want to see anyway. 

We make it to what must be the edge of the fields, identifiable by the clattering of a chain-link fence as I crash into it. I boost Alex up and over before scrabbling up, myself. My arm could be on fire and it would feel just the same, but I don’t have the time to think about it and adrenaline dulls the pain to a consistent ache. It’s odd, I think, that we haven’t come across anyone else yet. Alex tells me that she doesn’t want to think about it. I don’t blame her. 

We slow considerably as we come upon the road, silent and lifeless. I take the first step then tug Alex behind me. When nothing intercepts me, we move faster up the hill. I just have to get us home. It takes a while to get up the hill and it dawns on me that my backpack is far too heavy. Swinging it around to my chest, I pull out my notebooks and toss them to the ground. Schoolwork is the least of my concerns. I dig out my house keys and a small flashlight as well. It doesn’t turn on. I keep it in hand anyway and shrug the bag back on.

Sounds without a perceivable source begin to follow us as we near my house. Low, echoing groans and shuffling, raspy breaths out of sync with our own, what could be the wind but sounds more like whispers. I try to ignore it. It’s hard to tell exactly where I am, but I’ve walked this route many times and I can picture my surroundings in the darkness. I know we’re home when my outstretched hand meets the hood of an old pickup. I follow the wall to the door, fumbling with my keys in the dark. Finally, the door swings open and we stumble inside.

Alex slams the door shut behind us, locking it with a _click_. She hasn’t spoken in some time, but her breathing is as heavy as mine. I stumble into my room, navigating the house from memory and picking up a candle on my dresser. I feel around for a lighter, nearly sobbing when my shaking hand closes around it. It takes four tries to flick it on but once I do, I don’t hesitate to light the small candle. I stare at the flame with watery eyes for a few moments then turn around. 

“Alex, look-!” The words die in my throat. Alex stood behind me, motionless. She frowns, confused. 

“Look at what?” She asks. Bile rises in my throat and I slap a hand over my mouth to keep it down. Where her eyes should be are empty, gored and dripping in something thicker and darker than blood. Deep bruising spreads from each void and flesh creeps up over the injury, closing up the wounds as I watch. In moments, it’s as if she’d never had eyes to begin with. I stumble back, jostling the dresser. The flame flickers out. _“It’s still dark.”_


	2. A Picture is worth 1000 Words 1.1

_ A storm is coming. _

Whispers of destruction making its way, imminent and awesome. Windows are closed and curtains drawn. A dog barks and growls at the greying sky, scrambling for shelter. 

_ A storm is coming. _

Children are called inside, leaving toys where they lay. The earth greedily drinks up the first few spatterings of frigid water. Flora shiver in delight, dancing to the tension in the air. 

_ A storm is coming.  _

Rain begins to drift to the ground, then fall, then crash to the earth in violent drops. A flash fills the sky, chased by the low voice of thunder. The cycle repeats, water dancing around huge sparks in the sky, spinning and falling to the music of the storm. Mothers cradle weeping children, shaken by the power displayed above their heads. 

As man and animal cower, those yet unseen come out of hiding. Shadows and whisps of creatures unknown emerge and drink from the heavens, bathing themselves in raw power and the promise of new life. They scamper in the trees, only the boldest venturing into the open meadow to bask in the heavy rains.   
Some whiz through the air, ducking around thick drops to soak in the energy, spurred on by each loud crash. Others slink beneath the brush, collecting the droplets that slips between leaves and land in springy soil. Creatures that live in hiding thrive in the storm.

The hidden rejoice. There is always a celebration to accompany such storms. There is also anger, resentment. Grief for their brothers and sisters cut down in their homes, slain by ignorant men. Blood unseen stains trampled forest floors. Humanity knows not what they kill. They don’t care to know. They kill without sympathy.

Chittering laughs and creaking groans mix into a song of its own, hidden by the rolling thunder. The thick curtain of rain and every blinding flash hides each from view. Once they’ve had their fun, the creatures calm their actions but not their hearts. They gather, numbered in the thousands, and words travel from one to the next until each is aware. They’ve lost too many, but they have not lost strength. 

Humanity lives in blissful ignorance. One day, it would catch up and haunt them. 

Lock your windows, draw your curtains, and grip tightly to your mother’s apron. Watch not the skies, but the earth instead. Keep your eye on the forest edge. 

_ A storm is coming. _


	3. A Picture is Worth 1000 Words 2.1

Golden light spilled forth as the sun dipped behind the trees. Each drop of sunshine hit the ground harder than the last until it finally trailed across the pavement and pooled at my feet. A liquid more precious than gold seemed to weigh down the ground at my feet, forming a puddle. More and more gathered, deepening the pit beneath me and flooding up to my ankles. 

We called this the Golden Hour where I’m from. A small moment when the sun overflowed and bubbled up over the horizon. I didn’t know what caused it or how it worked. Any knowledge of physics or astronomy I had seemed not to apply when the sun melted into a shimmering fluid and slid over the earth. 

In the back of my mind, alarms were blaring. Warnings shared in harsh whispers echoed in a forgotten part of my mind and try as I had to heed them, they faded out with every inch I sunk deeper into the sunlight. Knee-deep in a pit more pure than anything on Earth should be allowed, the gentle warmth and hypnotic glow snatched away my attention and refused to relinquish its control. 

The point at which the pool of light reached my hips was when my trance stuttered and I began to comprehend the peculiarity of my situation. For a short moment, the buzzing in my mind receded just enough for the warnings I’d heard to rush into the void it left. The moment was short-lived. As soon as the thought crossed my mind to move, the ground finally gave way under the weight of the sunlight and down I fell. 

Had I half a mind to look, I might’ve seen the ground snap back into place with the same unnatural elasticity it took to warp it in the first place, sealing the space I had fallen through as though I’d never been there to begin with. Given my new surroundings, though, it’s no surprise I had been too preoccupied to notice.

Despite the warmth and light surrounding me, the space I fell through was cold and seemed to devour any light before it could do much for my vision. In fact, unless it was in my field of vision, there was no trace of the light at all. I couldn’t decide if it was due to the darkness or the vastness of the void I plummeted through, nor could I decide which option was worse.

There was a point at which I stopped feeling like I was falling and instead began to float.  _ Terminal velocity _ , my mind supplied. There was comfort in the knowledge that some small piece of logic still remained. I used the idea as a distraction, retracing the tracks that had allowed the train of thought. Terrified as I was, I also felt like I was floating in a dream. Loosely cradled by sunlight, it was easy to forget that I would have to land at some point. Cool serenity forced itself between my ribs and spread throughout my heart and lungs. There was nothing I could do. Whatever waited at the end of my fall would come regardless of my actions. I had no control. I had nothing  _ to _ control. 

My mind drifted back to the warnings I’d been given. Why was it so hard to recall who had told them? The voice was fuzzy and distorted, more of a concept than a clear idea. It had to have been someone important, someone I looked up to and who cared for me. I couldn’t remember who they were or what they may have been to me. I abandoned the thought and focused instead on others in my life. 

Would anyone know where I had gone? Would they notice my absence or mourn the space I used to fill? As many tricks as my mind had played on me before, the answers were strikingly clear. There was no doubt that I would be missed by my loved ones as much as I would miss them. Twisted versions of my own voice were silent and for the first time I could remember, there was no pang of guilt nor blanket of doubt when I considered all the ways in which I would be missed. 

As I wandered my memories and reflected on the people I’d known, a gentle dampness settled on my lashes, surprising me out of my ponderance. Had I been crying? As I fell without feeling, droplets drifted up the way I came, fading from view as they grew farther from the light I was in. How the fluid I was surrounded by had stayed as a sort of aura around me was odd in a way I had only then noticed. It was never far from the soles of my feet and never higher than the place on my hips it had been at when I had begun my descent. 

“Do you intend to stand there and stare at nothing for the rest of your life?” 

As the realization that someone had spoken solidified in my mind, the weightless feeling faded and was replaced by the now-unfamiliar sensation of my own weight planted firmly on my feet. The sunlight slipped off of my body and out from beneath my feet leaving no trace as it went. I blinked, watching the liquid bubble up off of the “ground” until it stood before me as… a  _ man? _

“Not quite,” he said. “But you may refer to me as you find comfortable.” I filed away the knowledge that he had heard my thoughts and instead asked another question. 

“Who are you?” He pondered for a moment, amused, perhaps, that I’d chosen such a simple question despite the situation.

“I am Apollo. I am also Surya, Amun, Helios, Akycha, and Sol.” The longer I stared at him, the more I noticed the shimmer of his skin and the way he seemed to flicker like candlelight. “You may call me Siacandis. Welcome to the Unborn World.”


End file.
